


The Demon's Guide to Bookselling

by ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer



Series: The Ineffable Anthology [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A.Z Fell & Co., Fluff, I will take no other opinions, M/M, drunk boyfriends, their kink is being there for each other, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer/pseuds/ReneeTheAngelAndPartTimeRareBookDealer
Summary: On the cusp of A.Z Fell & Co's opening day, what better way to celebrate than getting drunk with the man you've come to (love) call a friend!A short story in which Aziraphale learns a hard truth and Crowley does everything in his power to make the angel happy.





	The Demon's Guide to Bookselling

Crowley tended, debatably, to his perfect plants, and Aziraphale tended to his books. That was the way of the universe. Both beings cared for their possessions with complimentary ferocity and holy reverence. 

Aziraphale was an avid hunter, scouring every corner of the earth and the furthest reaches of time itself to cultivate his esteemed collection. He took great pride in it, and couldn’t decide wether this budding sin was the result of spending too much time amongst humanity, or in Crowley’s questionable presence. 

If he were being honest, however, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. 

Because at this very moment, the angel had amassed enough books to sensibly own and operate a bookshop. There was, however, a minor problem. One that had completely slipped his mind, and the demon, Crowley, brought to his attention. He mentioned it as the pair got obscenely drunk within the shop's labyrinth of leather, paper, and strange words — hours before opening day. 

“I never thought I’d see the day” the demon drawled. “That you, my darling Aziraphale, would willingly part with a book.” He leaned forward in his chair, pointing an accusatory finger in what he believed to be the angel’s general direction while his snake eyes attempted to focus. “Tell me, what ever will you do when that first sale occurs?” 

Aziraphale tilted his head, confused. _Perhaps he’s too drunk_, he thought, _not thinking clearly_. “I beg your pardon?” He asked aloud. 

The demon stared at him, squinting as if trying to decipher an impossible problem. Staring at _him_ as if he was the enigma in their relationship. 

“Are you joking?” He asked, dumbfounded. 

Aziraphale was growing irritated. “When have you ever known me to joke about books?” 

Crowley laughed, a bellowing sound that shook the room and warmed Aziraphale to his very core, although he’d never admit that. Especially when such a laugh was at his expense. 

“You’ve made a fair point, angel.” The demon lounged back in his chair. “So explain to me, exactly what kind of enterprise do you plan on opening in a matter of hours?” 

“A bookshop, of course,” Aziraphale replied indignantly. 

“Mhm, and what do you understand a bookshop to be?” Crowley covered his mouth, feigning sincerity, when both men knew he was only attempting to hide the smirk that was growing behind his palm. It was a very poor attempt. 

Despite this, Aziraphale answered. “Bookshops are akin to places of worship. Humans gather hundreds of books, stories, and teachings in one specific place so that the knowledge may be thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated. While I have been rather private these past thousand years, I do hope to find some individuals worthy of perusing my stacks. Perhaps I’ll allow them to stay and read for as long as they please, even offer them a drink.” A smile grew on his face as his eyes glazed over, picturing the fantasy. 

The demon’s hand had long since fallen away. He openly gaped now. “You absolute fool,” he murmured in disbelief. 

Aziraphale’s eyes cut to him once more, the momentary trance broken. “Again,” he began sternly, “I beg your pardon?” 

The tone sobered Crowley up immensely. He sat up straighter and threw the angel his most infuriating smirk. “Aziraphale, I love to be the one to tell you this, but you do realize that bookshops are a modern place of business, correct?” 

The angel’s only sign of acknowledgment was a worried crease between his brows. 

The demon continued, dragging his chair forward so he was mere inches from Aziraphale’s distant gaze. “You see, humans come into bookshops to _purchase_ books.” 

Again, he was only returned a blank stare. 

He cleared his throat. “That is, you,” he pointed to Aziraphale, “the bookseller, are expected to sell your lovely books to prospective buyers, the humans.” 

The angel took a sharp breath. He gripped Crowley’s wrist, stopping the demon’s heart, as asked, softly, “do they bring the books back?” 

Crowley’s eyes softened at the innocent question, and he gingerly brought his other hand down to rest on the angel’s. “No,” he replied, honest remorse ringing in his voice. “Not unless you’re running a library.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth fell into an uncharacteristic frown. He looked down at their somewhat joined hands, and then to the half empty bottle of scotch on the table beside them. He released the demon and lunged for it, taking an unholy swig. 

The bottle shook in his grasp as he gasped, “Crowley, I can’t do this.” 

Aziraphale was, at this very moment, experiencing a crisis. Books — aside from the demon beside him — had become the basis of his entire world. He couldn’t bare to part with either. Especially not his beloved prophecies, those strange and wonderful predictions he hoped would one day reveal some aspect of the all-mighty’s ineffable plan. 

Now, in a drunk and desperate stupor, he looked to Crowley. 

“What should I do?” 

The demon, for once, was speechless. He had never seen Aziraphale in such a state, in all their years together, and it made him uneasy. Witnessing his steadfastly good, and sure-footed companion in distress tugged at his insides in an unfavorable way. Suddenly, his only purpose on this god-forsaken planet was to see his friend happy once more. 

He took the bottle from the angle’s hand, placing it elsewhere, and gripped his shoulders, crouching down to eye level. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to ensure that you run the worst bookshop in the whole United Kingdom!” 

Aziraphale blinked at him slowly, a familiar wariness entering his gaze. “What are you suggesting?”

Crowley flashed a wicked smile. “Kill your customers, of course. That’ll be sure to scare them off.”

“Crowley!” The angel chastised. 

“I’m joking!” He replied. “It wouldn’t hurt to yell at them, though. Maybe even hiss from time to time.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as the demon abruptly stood up and gazed at the many books surrounding them. He strolled to a bookshelf dedicated to human tragedies, trailing his fingers across their weathered spines almost lovingly. Aziraphale was enamored with the sight — that is, up until the moment Crowley selected a novel and promptly threw it across the room, causing a separate stack to fall and creating a general state of chaos. As was the demon’s nature. 

The angel was furious when Crowley repeated the desecration. “Disorganization,” he continued, “will be vital. No sane person wants to visit a store they can’t navigate.” What followed was a solid hour of the demon scattering the angel’s meticulously placed horde of books. 

And while the demon raged around him, the bottle had somehow made its way back to Aziraphale’s lap. The angel took a swig, powerless to stop the force around him. He cursed when Crowley appeared beside him, nearly dropping the bottle as the demon pushed his hair back and slung his arm around him. 

He pulled him in close as they observed the mess he’d made. “And of course,” he whispered, “you’ll want to keep odd hours. The more ridiculous the better.” 

It was good advice, although Aziraphale was hardly listening, focused instead on the sensation of his head resting on Crowley’s chest. He smelled like scotch and dark promise. 

He felt the demon’s face turn down towards him. “How do you fancy being open an hour a day? Said hour being woefully inconsistent and up to your discretion.” 

The angel looked up at him, admitting to himself that his hellish counterpart was indeed rubbing off on him. “And closed on weekends?” 

Crowley smiled at him, arm tightening around Aziraphale of its own volition. “And closed on weekends,” he agreed. A slight blush filled the angel’s cheeks and he looked elsewhere, towards the rays of sunlight beginning to creep across the floor. 

As dawn entered the bookshop, Crowley conjured two glasses out of thin air, took the bottle from Aziraphale’s grasp, and poured its remaining contents. He gave a glass to his divine partner, and raised his own in a toast. 

“To never selling a single book!” 

Aziraphale let out a delighted chuckle as the two un-earthly beings clinked their glasses and drank. The angel could not remember a more pleasant time in all existence.

**Author's Note:**

> hi pls spare a thought! Whether it be a comment, criticism, or you just wanna scream about the first 30 minutes of episode 3, I thrive off the feedback <3


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